


The Promise of a Day Like This

by LSquared80



Category: CSI: Crime Scene Investigation
Genre: AU for Gum Drops, F/M, GSR - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-10
Updated: 2020-05-10
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:27:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24112039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LSquared80/pseuds/LSquared80
Summary: Grissom and Sara's secret romance is exposed to a member of the team during an investigation outside of Las Vegas.
Relationships: Gil Grissom/Sara Sidle
Comments: 7
Kudos: 35





	The Promise of a Day Like This

**Author's Note:**

> I've never written fanfic for CSI before, but quarantine had me watching from the beginning and renewed my love for the show and GSR. I recalled that the season 6 episode "Gum Drops" was originally supposed to be centered around Grissom and reveal his relationship with Sara, and I thought it would be fun to imagine how that would have played out. With more graphic sex than allowed on CBS. ;)
> 
> The crime is the same as it was depicted in the show and full credit for that goes to the writers of CSI.

It was nearly eight o’clock when Grissom spied Sara taking pictures of the McBride family’s kitchen and unsuccessfully hiding a yawn behind the camera. The curtains above the sink were open and the soft, buttery light of morning was growing harsher by the minute. She squinted against the intrusion and caught him staring. 

“What?” she asked with a small smile. 

Grissom shrugged. They had left Vegas for Pioche – a town in Lincoln County with a population of barely one-thousand – during the start of a double shift, and since the guys hadn’t arrived on the scene for another five hours after, he and Sara had processed the brunt of the house alone. It was a time sensitive case, with the bodies nowhere to be found, but he couldn’t fault her for being exhausted. He could adore her for pretending, for his benefit, that she wasn’t craving sleep – and he did. His eyes surveyed the room, making a mental note of what was left to process. “How about we finish up in here then head to the motel?” 

Sara nodded and resumed snapping photos. 

The kitchen was a mess – all of the cupboards and most of the drawers were open, a chair had been knocked over. There was broken glass on the floor, but since the door leading to the yard and all the windows were intact, they surmised it had to be a drinking glass and someone let the assailants in. The clutter on the table was schoolwork and unopened mail, and the sink was empty of dishes. The McBride’s ten-year-old daughter’s chore chart backed up their theory of the crime taking place in the evening; Cassie hadn’t missed a gold star for doing the dinner dishes in six straight days, including the night Grissom believed intruders came into the home with murderous intent. 

Grissom and Sara both abruptly paused their work and looked at each other with alarm at an odd sputtering sound. She peered around the table and smiled. “Coffeemaker,” she said, crossing to it as drops of the hot liquid began to tap against the bottom of the glass pot. It hissed and sputtered and she told him, “Alarm is set to go off Monday through Friday at eight.” 

They shared a look, both knowing the alarm supported their timeline. “Someone had time to reset it for today,” he noted, opening a jar of black powder to dust the appliance for fingerprints. He watched Sara as she used her gloved hand to hit the power button, turning it off. The look on her face suggested she was bothered by the conflict of a pleasant aroma in a terrifying setting, and found it troubling to see life proceed without the people who lived in the house. He gave her arm a squeeze before she walked away. 

* 

“Let’s round everyone up,” Grissom said, sealing an evidence bag. 

“Okay,” Sara replied, dulling her enthusiasm over taking a break. She had grown unaccustomed to pulling doubles and found it somewhat embarrassing that her tolerance for long hours on the job had weakened. But it turned out she enjoyed spending time with her boyfriend away from crime scenes and microscopes. The added elements of travelling out of Vegas and missing victims, especially a child, only made the time more oppressive. 

Grissom caught Nick as he passed by carrying his kit. He called him over and said, “Take this,” handing him two evidence bags. “Tell the guys to finish up what they’re doing." 

“On it,” Nick said. 

Grissom looked at Sara and said, “I’m going to take one more sweep around the girl’s room.” 

She held his gaze for a long while, looking concerned. “Need a second set of eyes?” 

He smiled his appreciation but said, “Not right now,” before leaving the room. 

* 

Cassie McBride liked bubblegum. Even the walls of her room were a classic, bright pink. Grissom didn’t know what more he expected to find after processing every square inch and finding her small sneaker filled with green cough syrup, but he couldn’t stomach taking a pause without trying one more time to find a clue to the family’s whereabouts. 

He was a pragmatic man and investigator. He was a scientist who followed facts and evidence, yet he couldn’t shake the feeling Cassie was alive. Her room reminded him of his own childhood bedroom, save for all of the pink. Like her, he had books everywhere. One glance around the four walls would have conveyed to anyone that Gilbert Grissom liked bugs, and he could plainly see that Cassie loved to swim. Trophies lined the shelves and photos of her – in pools, with a team of smiling girls wearing swim caps, and happy in the ocean – were pinned to a corkboard and in frames scattered around. The cough syrup in her shoe told him she was intelligent and resourceful. The unopened squares of bubblegum he and Sara had found downstairs and in the yard were most likely just discarded pieces of gum, but the amount and placement made him think Cassie was trying to send a message. 

As he walked the perimeter, he heard excited shouting muffled by the distance between the bedrooms and the lower level. He sighed and walked out, following the sound of Greg’s voice. 

“Grissom!” the younger man said, slightly out of breath as he came up from the cellar stairs. “You gotta see this.” 

Grissom followed him and could hear that Sara, Nick, and Warrick were all gathered there ahead of him. Before he could make a crack about how whatever they found better be good, they reached the bottom of the staircase and he saw a myriad of marijuana plants. 

“Explains the electric bill,” Sara said to him. 

“It’s the emerald city,” Greg noted. 

The young criminalist sounded too thrilled for Grissom’s taste. He shook his head and corrected him, “It’s motive.” 

* 

Greg’s discovery meant it was noon before the graveyard crew left the crime scene. The sun was blazing by then, and no amount of air conditioning in the Denali could counteract the stifling heat. Grissom cast a glance at Sara beside him in the passenger seat and knew that she was not only exhausted but starving. “Let’s stop for lunch,” he said. 

She called the guys, looking in the side view mirror to see their vehicle following behind. 

Grissom led the way to a roadside diner with two shoddy picnic tables on the dirt. He sat beside Sara, with Nick and Greg on the other side. Warrick had his own table, straddling the bench so he could face the others. Their conversation about the case was peppered with a little non work-related discourse, though Grissom mostly smiled or nodded or grunted his disapproval where appropriate. 

Sara had to clench her hands into fists on her lap after she reached over to settle her hand on his thigh a third time. He noticed her cup was empty and asked if she wanted a refill, and as Grissom walked away with her drink and his, the guys groused about not being afforded the same consideration. She just grinned, shaking her head. 

“I guess we’ll just go,” Greg pouted. 

He, Warrick, and Nick gathered their trash and said they would meet them at the motel. Their Denali was kicking up dirt around the bend when Grissom returned to the table and touched Sara’s back as he sat down closer to her than he had been before. 

She thanked him and resituated herself, swinging one leg over the bench to face him. She folded both hands over his thigh and said what had been slowly occurring to her as she studied Grissom and recalled his behavior at the house. “You think the girl is alive.” 

“You don’t?” he asked. “None of the blood we sent back to the lab was hers.” 

Sara took a shaky breath. “I think she’s lucky if all they did was kill her.” She shuddered. “Even a monster might have second thoughts about putting a bullet in a little girl’s head. They could have strangled her. Suffocated her. That’s probably why they gave her the cough syrup. No struggle and less guilt for them.” 

He shook his head. “She didn’t drink the cough syrup.” 

“We don’t know that just because some of it was in her shoe, she...” Sara stopped; he knew everything she could say. He was interpreting the evidence differently and she was only worried what it would do to Grissom if he was wrong. “We’re not giving up,” she said, sensing his frustration. She scooted closer and lifted one arm to stroke the hair at the nape of his neck. “It’s just that you’re acting like we’re going to rescue a person, not recover a body. And, Griss, I want that to be the outcome. But in this job, it’s... usually not.” 

“We rescued Nick.” 

“It wasn’t time for him to go,” she said softly. 

Grissom’s eyes narrowed. “And it was time for Cassie McBride?” 

She increased the pressure of the points where her skin touched his. “I don’t mean to sound cruel, Gil. You know that. I’m just being... practical. Nick found the strength to hold on and we worked hard to find him before it was too late. Cassie is a ten-year-old girl and we know there were at least two men in that house, grown enough to wear size ten and eleven shoes. It’s horrible but the odds are not in her favor. We’re here to do everything we can to either find her or tell her story so the monsters don’t get away with it.” She moved her hand down to rub circles against his back. “I know how devastated you were by what happened to Nick and we _found_ him. I hate to think of how devastated you’ll be if things don’t go well this time.” 

He looked at her, managing a smile. She was worried about him. Grissom tilted sideways and stole a quick kiss. “Let’s go before they think we drove back home.” 

* 

The Coyote Springs Motel looked like a series of connected log cabins built front to back and side by side. The five investigators crowded around the reception area as a woman with a cigarette bobbing in the corner of her mouth said, “Only got three rooms.” 

Warrick quickly reached between Sara and Grissom to snatch the first set of keys. He jingled them in Nick’s direction and they turned and left the stuffy room. 

Grissom and Sara twisted around to look at Greg. He grinned as though he were someone’s prize. The two secret lovers looked at each other before Grissom sighed and took one set of keys from the desk. He tossed them to Greg and said, “Guess we’re roomies.” 

* 

Sara’s room smelled musty. After her shower the smell of the citrus sandalwood soap she had packed wafted out toward the beds and made it more pleasant to breathe. She carried a tube of the corresponding lotion to the bed. She propped the pillows against the headboard and sat down. Looking at the empty bed on the other side of the nightstand, Sara stifled a grin. She missed Grissom but also found it amusing that he had to spend the night a few feet away from Greg. 

She was unaware that Grissom was standing outside the door to her room. He tapped three times, like it was a code she would understand. He heard the rattle of the lock and the chain and when she opened the door, he exhaled a satisfied sigh. Her damp hair and bare, luminous face were a balm to his weary body and mind. “May I come in?” he asked. 

Sara grabbed a handful of his T-shirt and pulled him in, quickly shutting the door. “What if they saw you?” 

“Nick and Warrick’s rooms are behind us and Greg is out like a light,” Grissom answered, his eyes raking up and down her body. She was wearing one of his favorite pairs of pajamas – silken shorts in a small polka dot pattern and a loose-fitting tank top; one strap always fell down her shoulder and offered a lovely view of the slope of her breast. He grasped her hips and pointedly looked down the low neckline of her top. 

“Gil,” she chided him in a harsh whisper, “one of them could have been at the vending machine or getting something from the car.” They had managed to keep six months of intimacy – what started after Nick’s ordeal as a frantic, needy fuck between two traumatized people and progressed to living under the same roof – from everyone in their lives. The last thing they needed was the shock and gossip of being spied in the same motel room during a case. 

Grissom clucked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “I know, Sara,” he said, his voice tender but sharpened by lust and, she thought, anger. “But Greg is snoring and...” He began to knead her hips. “I can no longer sleep unless you're in the bed with me.” 

She tried to bite back a smile. 

He tugged her against the front of his body and turned his face into her neck, inhaling. “God, you smell good,” he said, his voice vibrating against her skin. 

She felt him hard against her stomach. “I feel like sleep isn’t what you have in mind.” 

He rubbed his hands downward to clutch her ass and then dragged his right palm up along her ribcage, climbing until he could squeeze her breast. 

Sara relaxed in his arms as her resolve was weakened by his touch. Grissom’s tone and the way he fondled her – commanding and a little rough – was a mood she had come to learn and to like. When he was tense, he released the stress with sweaty, wanton fucking. A tightly wound Grissom meant he would forgo his penchant for being slow and romantic. He wouldn’t make love to her; he would fuck her. 

He guided Sara backward and she felt the corner desk behind her. He removed his shirt, mussing his hair. She moved to take her tank top off but Grissom curled his fingers around her wrists, stopping her. He kicked his slip-on shoes aside. His eyes roamed, taking time to focus on her face, then her collarbone, and finally the shape of her nipples under the thin cotton tank. One of the straps had fallen down her shoulder as though just for him. 

Her breath stuttered as Grissom traced his finger along her collarbone and against the soft slope of her shoulder, down to the hint of her breast. He hooked his finger around the strap and yanked it further, revealing the dusty pink skin of her nipple. Sara sucked a hiss of breath between her teeth and her hands gripped the edge of the desk as he drew a teasing circle around the hard bud. 

Grissom bent his head, his tongue following the same path his finger had taken. He felt her squirm and pressed a hand to her stomach as he finally lashed his tongue across the tip of her breast. He suckled and licked, his own arousal becoming more demanding and straining against the fabric of his cotton pants. He shoved her shorts and underwear down her hips and they slid from her thighs to around her ankles. While he kissed Sara hungrily, he reached between her legs and felt how wet she was. He rubbed her clit until he felt the first tremors of climax. 

She gasped when he stopped. She uttered a strained protest of, “Gil. Fuck.” 

He responded by grasping her hips and turning her around to face the desk. He reached in front of her to sweep a pad of stationery from the motel, a cup of pens, and her cosmetic bag – the pack of her birth control pills sticking out from between the half-open zipper – to the floor. The clatter of the cup and pens hitting the wall made her look back at him, a warning in her eyes – _be quiet, be careful._

Grissom nodded his understanding. Holding her hips, he pulled her closer and held his hand between her shoulder blades to give her a gentle but firm push toward the desk. When Sara was where he wanted her, bent over the desk partially wearing her pajama top and nothing else, he rid himself of the rest of his clothes. Grissom’s hands roamed her bare backside before he took hold of his erection and rubbed the head against her slick flesh. 

Sara was propped up on her forearms. She looked over her shoulder to see the way he looked at her with an unbridled desire. She wasn’t surprised he showed up; they struggled to sleep apart, wanted to be together all the time, and he had to release his tension over work somehow. But Sara was musing that his somewhat brutish behavior was probably, a little bit, because he was mad at her for thinking Cassie McBride was as dead as the rest of her family. All thoughts dissolved, though, when Grissom pushed his thick, hard cock inside her. 

After accusing him of being careless with their secret, it was Sara who let go of a guttural moan that was capable of breaching the thin walls. Grissom kept one hand at her hip but reached the other around to clasp over her mouth. She mumbled an apology against his hand and he let go, moving to fondle her exposed breast. She swallowed another cry of pleasure when Grissom urged her to lift her leg, propping her knee on the edge of the desk so that she was spread wider to him. 

Sara let herself collapse flat against the surface of the desk. Grissom looked down to watch where their bodies joined. The small piece of furniture was banging against the wall, louder with each thrust, and they both knew Nick and Warrick’s room was on the other side. The legs were squeaking and he didn’t think it was strong enough to contain his reckless passion for Sara. 

Grunting as he pulled out, he kindly helped her to stand upright. He held her hand and walked to the bed, throwing himself down on his back across the middle. 

She stood at the side, looking at his plump, erect member twitch and beg for her. “I need you, Sara,” he said, and she crawled onto the bed. Straddling him, she took him into her hand, stroking a few times before she lifted her hips and sank down around him. He stretched and filled her and she fell forward, her hands flat against his chest. 

Grissom clutched her thighs and began bucking his hips, but his vigor made the headboard clap against the wall in a loud rhythm that was an unmistakable sign of sex for their neighbors. He remained mostly still, letting Sara ride him. 

She pulled her tank top the rest of the way off, tossing it aside, before her hands sought purchase on his chest again. She tilted her body forward, finding the right angle as she rocked her hips. Her moans were quiet, but she had to collapse against him and muffle the sounds against his neck when pleasure rippled through her and she fluttered around him. 

Grissom felt her teeth against his skin as Sara struggled to contain her cries, and something about the need for restraint flooded him with heat. He started to buck beneath her again. His body tightened and he dug his heels into the mattress and his toes curled. His body spasmed as he spilled into her, and when Sara heard the first notes of a deep roar as he found his release, she clapped her hand over his mouth to muffle the sound. His ragged breath beat against her skin and he kissed her palm. 

Sara let go and collapsed beside him, hooking her leg across his. He softened, resting limply against his thigh, and she moved her gaze up to his face. He looked sweaty and sated and she was certain her expression mirrored his. 

“Feel better?” she asked. 

He murmured an affirmative response. After a moment of collecting himself, Grissom said, “If everyone in Lincoln County heard us, it was worth it.” 

She laughed, tilting her head to plant a kiss on his chest before resting her head there. 

* 

Sara was sitting against the headboard, having slept heavily for a few hours, thinking about her encounter with Grissom. She was jolted out of her daze by a knock at the door. She looked toward the bathroom where she could hear the water running as he showered. She cursed under her breath and stood, grabbing her robe to put on as she crossed the floor. She tied the sash and looked through the peephole. 

Greg. 

She unlocked the door, leaving the chain hooked so that he could only see her face looking at him from between the door and the frame. “Hey,” she said. 

The little he could see of Sara from the neck down distracted him from his real purpose – asking about Grissom who had gone missing. “Nice robe,” he said. “I always pictured you sleeping in an oversized shirt with the logo of your alma matter or a sports team you know nothing about, but your first boyfriend left the shirt behind and-” 

“Greg!” 

He closed his mouth then apologized. He forgot about Grissom, still, and told Sara that she had some equipment he needed to use to scan prints before they went back to the house. It couldn’t fit through the small space so she had to unhook the chain and walk away to grab what he needed. 

Greg gave the door a nudge and could see more of the room. He heard the running water. “Sounds like you were about to take a shower.” He walked in further. “That’s not fair,” he said, walking all the way in to point at the television. “Mine is a relic from the seventies and you basically have a movie theater in here.” 

She scoffed and nervously searched for the right words to quickly dismiss him. 

Greg remembered why he’d initially knocked on her door and went on to say, “I was wrong about your sleepwear, but I always figured Grissom for a well-pressed matching set of pinstripe pajamas and I still don’t know if that’s right. Have you heard from him this morning? He wasn’t in the room when I woke up. I can’t-” 

At that moment, the shower turned off and Greg and Sara shared a look, his eyes puzzled. She winced and increased the volume of her voice, hoping Grissom would hear and stay in the bathroom. But he didn’t, and after a few minutes he emerged wearing the clothes he slept in. The three of them were silent, all eyes on Grissom. 

Sara quickly said, “Uh, G-greg was worried when you weren’t in the room this morning.” 

Grissom swallowed against the lump in his throat. “Well, Greg failed to disclose he has quite the snoring problem. I have a doctor I can recommend for that,” he said, grinning. 

“Oh. Sorry. So, you, uh, slept in here?” Greg asked carefully. 

Sara and Grissom both nodded. “Yep,” she said as he answered with, “Yes, very soundly.” 

Greg looked pointedly at the two beds, only one unmade. 

“Thanks, Sara,” Grissom said casually, slipping his feet into his shoes. “Sorry for intruding.” 

Greg opened and closed his mouth. He understood why Grissom may have sought other accommodations for sleep, but that didn’t explain why he had to use Sara’s shower the next morning and not the one in his original room. And he suddenly remembered hearing a rhythmic banging against the wall he shared with Sara and his mind was reeling. 

Sara ushered both men out, acting put-upon by her boss. “If he didn’t leave me any hot water, I might have to use your shower, Greg,” she said, a nervous lilt to her voice. Both men looked at her – Greg with intrigue, already forgetting what he'd come upon, and Grissom with narrowed eyes for giving the younger man the opportunity to imagine her naked in his vicinity. 

* 

The trio of Nick, Greg, and Warrick left Coyote Springs first, stopping at the same roadside diner where they ate lunch the previous day. The owner stayed behind long past closing to feed them all. 

All three of the men were yawning, not able to guzzle coffee fast enough. Greg was tight-lipped but antsy, processing what he knew or thought he knew about Sara and Grissom. 

“One of us in that motel had way more fun than I did last night,” Nick remarked. 

Warrick pressed the heel of his hand between his eyes, where a pain had been throbbing from lack of proper sleep. “No kidding.” He laughed, shaking his head. 

“What do you mean?” Greg asked. 

“You didn’t hear?” Nick wondered, surprised. 

Greg shook his head. 

Warrick started banging his fist on the table, mimicking the sound Greg had actually heard – the headboard in Sara’s room smacking the wall. He looked at Greg and asked, “Does Sara have a boyfriend she’s hiding from us?” 

Greg shrugged. “She must,” he told him just as Grissom’s Denali rolled to a stop nearby. 

Sara exited the driver’s side and she walked with a wide berth between herself and Grissom, who went straight to the window to place his order. After she greeted the men, she followed him, ordering separately. 

“I hope everyone is well rested,” Grissom said as he sat down with the group. “We have a lot of work to do.” 

Nick’s face contorted as he tried not to laugh and Warrick hid his grin behind his coffee cup. Greg stiffened. 

“They must not have a single vegetarian here,” Sara remarked as she wedged in between Nick and Warrick to avoid sitting by Grissom. 

Nick choked on a laugh and they all looked at him except Warrick, who kept his eyes down. 

“What?” Sara asked. 

“I don’t want to embarrass you, Sara, but you don’t have to keep your new boyfriend a secret anymore,” Nick told her. “The cat’s outta the bag.” 

Grissom coughed and her eyes darted to Greg, who offered a quick shake of his head. “What are you talking about?” Sara asked. 

Warrick shook his head, throwing a piece of his trash at Nick for bringing it up and clearly making Sara uncomfortable. He got up and walked toward the Denali as Nick said, “All I’ll say is... the walls of Coyote Springs are paper thin.” He laughed again as he stood up, carrying his trash away. 

Before Sara could say anything, Greg hopped up and said, “Guess I gotta go,” running off to join the others. 

Sara and Grissom looked at each other, her chewing the inside of her cheek and him gritting his teeth. He had told her on more than one occasion that he wished he could shout to the world that Sara Sidle was his girlfriend. But they weren’t ready for the world to know. They weren’t ready for Ecklie and filling out forms and one of them having to switch to swing or days. They weren’t interested in anyone’s judgment or jokes. 

* 

They decided on the car ride back to the crime scene not to dwell on what Greg saw or the remarks from Nick and Warrick. Their focus needed to be on the case, and Grissom anxiously waited for dawn when he could accompany the Sherriff to the high school to interview a potential suspect. 

While he was gone and Warrick took another stab at searching the woods behind the house, Nick approached Sara and said, “Hey, Sar, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have embarrassed you like that. It’s just that... if you have a guy driving to _Pioche_ to spend one night with you, that’s pretty great. And I’m happy for you, that’s all.” 

Sara offered a genuine smile, her cheeks tinged pink. “Thanks, Nick,” she said. Her gazed flicked to Greg and she believed he had kept his lips sealed – so far. She tucked her bottom lip under her teeth, thinking. The more she said, the more attention she drew. But she wasn’t sure she had conveyed to Greg how important it was to her, and to Grissom, that he not say anything. 

“Yeah, you know,” Sara said, mostly for Greg’s benefit, “sometimes I feel like when you let the world in on a relationship when it’s new, other people’s opinions can tarnish it. It’s important to me, right now, to keep this private.” 

Nick nodded. “I get it. When you’re ready, I’d love to meet him.” 

She smiled. “He’s pretty fantastic,” she said, and both men heard the sincere giddiness in her voice. 

“You’re in love,” Nick stated, not laughing and not posing it as a question or a tease. It was plain on her face and in her tone and he was merely surprised, and pleased, by the fact. 

She tried not to let it, but her smile widened. “I am,” she said, and when she allowed her gaze to drift to Greg, he looked sad for a moment before he told her, “That’s really great, Sara. I’m happy for you.” 

Warrick jogged into the room, out of breath. “Sherriff called. They have a lead.” 

* 

Sara held a hand above her eyes to shield the glare of the sun. She saw Grissom on the dock by the lake, talking to a diver suited up for a mission. She ran, the floorboards of the old dock squeaking under her feet. “Hey,” she said, reaching him. “Warrick filled us in. Can I go with you?” 

“I wish you would,” he said softly. “Do you have an evidence bag?” 

She nodded and set her kit on the ground to open it. “What’d you find?” 

He uncurled his fingers and showed her a somewhat smashed square of bubblegum, the same kind they had found in Cassie’s room and around the scene. 

* 

The bodies of Mr. and Mrs. McBride and their son had been recovered and were being handled by the coroner. Grissom had insisted on a second and third sweep of the lake and there was still no sign of Cassie. Sara studied his face through each run and saw the relief every time they didn’t find her. 

As the boat bobbed in the water on the other side of the lake from the dock, Grissom said, “I’m going on foot,” and jumped onto the nearby soggy land. 

“Me too,” she said, and he waited for her, his hands at her waist to help her out of the boat. 

They went in separate directions and when she heard Grissom shouting for medics, Sara followed the sound of his voice until she came upon him kneeling beside Cassie McBride. It was difficult to tell from her vantage point if the girl was breathing, but Grissom was holding her hand and saying her name and Cassie’s eyes fluttered open. 

Heat flushed through Sara’s body – relief and a sense of guilt for ever doubting the girl’s strength and Grissom’s belief. But as the medics carried Cassie away and Grissom peered at Sara, smiling, she only felt love and appreciation. He didn’t fault her for doubting such a good outcome was possible and he wasn’t the type to gloat. 

* 

Cassie McBride was in a hospital bed, her voice hoarse as she recounted what she could remember. Grissom was still hearing her when he climbed into the front seat of his car and drove in the direction of his townhome. 

The sight of Sara’s car parked along the curb made his heart swell. He pulled into the driveway and almost forgot to turn the engine off; he was in such a hurry to see Sara and hear her husky voice and wrap his arms around her. 

Opening the door, he first saw her legs stretched out from the sofa and her bare feet propped on the edge of the coffee table. He grinned, predicting she would quickly drop her feet and sit straight at the sound of his arrival, and she did. 

“Hi,” Sara said, hopping up, leaving her book open face down on the sofa. “How’s she doing?” 

Grissom hung his keys from the row of hooks on the wall. He met her halfway across the room. He lifted his arms, one hand clutching the back of her head while the other rested just above her backside, pulling her flush against him. Sara’s lips were stiff at first out of surprise, but she softened against him and he could taste dark chocolate and the herbal tea she liked to sip all morning. Grissom released her, the skin around her mouth rubbed red from his beard. “She’s awake and talking,” he said, not missing a beat in the conversation Sara had attempted to start. 

Flushed from the kiss and trying to swim through the fog of her sudden arousal, she stammered to say, “Oh, g-good. That’s. That’s good.” 

He grinned smugly, his back to her as he walked toward the kitchen. 

She followed him. “I rinsed some berries. They’re in a bowl in the fridge. I could make you something? Blueberry pancakes?” 

He shook his head and opened the fridge. He removed the bowl and carried it with him down the hallway. Curious, Sara trailed behind him. When she turned the corner into the bedroom, he’d set the berries on the bedside table and started unbuttoning his shirt. 

“Are you... tired?” she asked. 

He shook his head. “Not really.” His torso was bare and he sat down to remove his shoes and socks. 

Sara curled her toes inside her slippers. She felt a tickle along her spine as she watched him remove his pants and carefully fold them over the back of the armchair in the corner. He was wearing the boxers she had bought for him but expected him to never actually wear – blue with tiny bananas printed all over. “Those look good on you,” she said. 

He reached out, wiggling his fingers until she came closer and took his hand. Grissom pulled her into a warm embrace and said, “You look better on me.” 

Sara smiled against his bare shoulder. While he was tightly wound and rough in the motel, she knew he was relaxed and tender. And she knew she loved him either way. 

He started to sway and they were almost dancing in the middle of the bedroom floor. Sara tightened her arms around his waist, locking her hands together at the base of his spine. She tilted her head back to look at him. “I forgot to tell you. Greg actually kept his mouth shut,” she said. “The guys don’t know you were in the room with me.” 

His eyes widened. “Yeah, but how long do you think that will last?” 

Sara shrugged. “Maybe this is best. As much as I would love to stay in this little bubble with you forever, I’m not sure that’s sustainable. This way... we ease the rest of the world in.” 

He sighed. “I suppose.” Grissom’s fingers slipped beneath the fabric of her shirt and traced up and down. “I guess I've enjoyed having you all to myself.” 

Sara beamed and captured his lips in a soft, searing kiss. They tumbled to the bed where he undressed her, stopping to reverently kiss every new patch of skin revealed to him. He made her come with his mouth and then with his fingers before he even let her touch him. 

After, when they were both tired and a little sore and covered in a sheen of sweat with their heads at the foot of the bed, he remembered the bowl of berries on the table. Grissom waited for his pulse to return to normal before he sat up to reach the bowl. Sara groaned at the loss of his body beside hers, but she was famished and joined him. He fed her a strawberry and finished the last half himself. 

“How did you have the faith to believe Cassie survived?” Sara asked, her voice raspier than normal from all of the moaning and calling his name – she was even louder than normal, making up for how she’d struggled to contain herself in the motel. 

Grissom looked away a moment. When his eyes landed on Sara’s face again, they were glossy with tears that never fell. “I felt like her and I had a lot in common. I knew she was resourceful enough to keep herself alive. And...” 

“What?” she prompted gently. 

“In the last six months, I’ve felt more hopeful. I’ve had more good days than bad. I’m not sure why,” he said, feigning confusion before he smiled and reached for her hand. “I’ve started to believe good things can happen,” he told Sara, lifting her hand to press a kiss below her knuckles.


End file.
